


i hide behind these words (but i'm coming out)

by phylocalist



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 11:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13974210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylocalist/pseuds/phylocalist
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is nineteen years old and he ismost definitely notembarrassed by Yuuri praising him. Even less so is he pleased. He is not a kid anymore, for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t need anyone’s praise or approval.





	i hide behind these words (but i'm coming out)

**Author's Note:**

> this one of the two pieces i wrote for the heartbeats zine that was released a month ago on february 14th! this piece revolves around the language of love: words of affirmation. i would like to thank the mods of the zine a thousand times over for organizing such a good project and the contributors who even made the zine possible! <3

“You were amazing out there, Yurio!”

Yuuri’s arms are around him as soon as Yuri leaves the rink and he’s rubbing his cheek against Yuri’s chin, because it’s as high as he can reach. Yuri scoffs, red in the face, and pushes him away.

“It’s been four years and you still haven’t let go of that stupid nickname,” he says, aggressively putting on his jacket and hiding his face from view. He pulls the hood up over his head, for extra security, and marches on towards the kiss and cry.

Yuri Plisetsky is nineteen years old and he is _most definitely not_ embarrassed by Yuuri praising him. Even less so is he pleased. He is not a kid anymore, for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t need anyone’s praise or approval.

But when he gets to the kiss and cry, Viktor is right there with a big smile on his face and pride in his eyes and Yuri feels his gut clench.

“This was your best performance ever!” Viktor says, bubbly with emotion, takes Yuri’s head in his hands and pulls it to himself to smack a loud kiss on his forehead. Yuri swears he just heard the whole stadium _aww_ at it and he kicks Viktor in the knee with one of his skates.

“Let go, asshole! What do you think I am, five?!” He yells, turning back to the screens for the reveal of his scores. Both of his hands are pulling on the sides of his hood, trying to hide the blush that was just made that more prominent thanks to Viktor. Fucking husbands and their excessive amounts of PDA.

When the scores appear on the screen, they confirm what everyone else was thinking and saying. A new world record for Free Skate and for Combined Score. Yuri breaks Yuuri’s record for only a few points, but it still means he’s back at the top.

Almost against his will, Yuri can feel his lips lift up on a smile. He jumps up from his seat, yelling and fist bumping, celebrating as much as he can in the short span of time he has in the kiss and cry. Viktor is right there next to him, standing up and wrapping Yuri up in a big hug, screaming right into Yuri’s ear. He doesn’t even care, lets Viktor squeeze the life out of him.

He got the gold.

The celebration doesn’t let up. Yuri is lavished with praise from commentators, reporters and sponsors — but it feels plastic. He has been doing this long enough to know they all only want him at the top for their own success and the moment Yuri falls, they will leave him to die. All the sweet-talk makes him want to throw up, so he hurries out the rink and to his hotel room as soon as the medaling ceremony is done.

The hotel room bed feels like the best thing Yuri’s ever laid on when he finally arrives. He doesn’t even bother taking off his clothes, just flops down on top of the soft covers and melts into it. He curls up and lets himself breathe for a while.

When he wakes up, hours later and before the sun even rises, he checks his phone. There are thousands of texts and notifications on it, but he ignores them in favor of the two names he instantly recognizes.

First, he opens the texts from _dedushka_. The first is a simple word — _молодец!_ — but it’s followed by what are probably a thousand exclamation marks. It’s dumb and the most adorable thing Yuri has ever seen. He can only imagine his grandpa’s excitement. After that, a few hours later, Nikolai sent a picture. It’s not in focus and it takes Yuri a few seconds to understand what he’s supposed to be seeing, but his breath cuts short when he realizes what it is. Hanging framed on the wall, right next to Yuri’s mother’s golden disk, is a cutout of their local newspaper in which Yuri’s face is printed on what seems to be the front page. “ _World’s Figure Skating Gold Returns to Russia!_ ” the big letters above Yuri’s face read.

Yuri stares at the picture for what feels like hours. He doesn’t even know what to reply back to _dedushka_. He _should_ say something, right? Something like _thanks_ , or _you didn’t have to do that,_ or _your words and appreciation mean the world to me_. But his fingers are frozen still over the keyboard and he can’t bring himself to type any of those things, no matter how true they are, so he frustratedly types out a short reply instead.

_i’ll see you soon._

He clicks send before he can talk himself out of it. With a groan, he rolls onto his back and covers his eyes with one of his arms. It’s not a lie, but it’s not what he wanted to say either.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity — because that is _not_ something Yuri Plisetsky does — Yuri decides to take a look at the other text his mind had picked out as important. It’s a series of texts, actually, all from Otabek.

The first few are encouraging words and good luck messages right before Yuri had to go onto perform his Free Skate, and assurance that Otabek would be watching him from Almaty. His cheeks suddenly red, Yuri reminds himself this is why he now leaves his phone on his bag right before competitions. The next two are congratulatory messages, praises about how well he did and promises to celebrate. Yuri’s blush deepens, and before he can think too much about it he keeps reading.

There is simply a picture of an airplane ticket next, with Otabek’s name on it and St. Petersburg as the destination. Yuri smiles, his chest warm, as he opens the next picture. In it, Otabek is sitting on the couch of Yuri’s apartment in St. Petersburg, Potya on his lap. Even though it’s just a picture, Yuri can practically hear Potya purring in contentment of finally being cuddled up with Otabek again.

The last message is two simple words, but they make Yuri’s heart feel like it’s going to leap out of his chest:

_Finally home._

With a warm smile on his face that he will never admit to, Yuri quickly types back a reply.

_don’t finish the coffee before i arrive._

Only a few seconds pass since he sends it before Yuri can see the three dots appear on screen that indicate Otabek is typing.

_I’ll just buy more. I know the brand you like._

Yuri giggles, like a dumb teenager with a crush. Of course Otabek would know the brand Yuri likes, they’ve been basically living together on and off for almost a year. It still amazes Yuri, though.

A new message appears:

_Congratulations again, Golden boy._

In a fit of embarrassment, Yuri throws his phone halfway across the bed and buries his red face in his forearms.

“Fuck you,” he mutters, but the beating of his heart is so loud he almost can’t even hear himself.  


*

 

The banquet is a mere formality and, like all formalities, Yuri hates it.

The only upside of it is the food and the drinks. He can finally have some of the alcoholic champagne they give out like water at these things and get at least slightly tipsy to be able to survive the whole ordeal. Yuri knows when to stop, though — he will never be the embarrassment of the party by getting as drunk as Katsuki once did. Thanks to that particular event, he has a very clear image in his head as to what could happen if he ever gets drunk at a banquet and it’s enough of an incentive to not drink more than two or three glasses of champagne.

The banquet is also full of sponsors trying to suck up to competitors and it always makes Yuri’s stomach turn. The words always feel so fake that he can’t ever take any of them seriously. Instead, whenever they’re trying to talk to him, Yuri just tunes them out and thanks them with a forced smile.

He spends most of the night glued to his phone, texting Otabek about how much he wishes he was back home already instead of here, and following Viktor and Yuuri around. He’s expected to be with his coach after all, and when his coach spends all of his time with his husband it’s kind of inevitable that all three of them end up together almost all banquet.

At one point, while Viktor and Yuuri are talking some nonsense about Makkachin, Yuri pockets his phone and shuffles uncomfortably. Yuuri notices right away, because he _always_ notices, and looks at Yuri with something like concern.

“Yurio? Are you okay?”

Yuri rolls his eyes at the nickname. “I’ve told you not to-” he starts, but interrupts himself before he can derail the conversation too much. He takes a breath in. “I’m - I’m sorry I took the gold at your last competition.”

Courage is not something Yuri lacks; if anything, most people would say he’s got too much of it. He lashes out without fear and he speaks whatever he needs. There is no wondering what could happen after, Yuri acts before even thinking of the consequences. It’s gotten him in quite a bit of trouble before, but it’s also given him amazing opportunities. So what would the world think if they knew Yuri had to gather _courage_ for a few hours before being able to say those words?

It’s not easy. Talking like this and baring himself in this way? It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. But maybe it’s worth it.

Yuuri smiles and it’s not scary. He smiles and reaches up to pat Yuri on the head, then gives up when he realizes he’d have to get on the tip of his toes to reach, which makes Yuri laugh. So Yuuri frowns playfully and flicks Yuri on the nose.

“Ow!” Yuri complains, moving away and covering his nose with his hands. “What was that for?!”

“You don’t have to apologize for something like that, Yurio,” Yuuri says. He looks up to Viktor, who has somehow kept himself from making a comment so far, and interlaces their arms. “Your coach and I are very proud of you for your second World’s gold.”

Viktor smiles at Yuri and it’s warm and not at all the common goofy smile he’s used to. Yuri blushes and suddenly the carpet pattern is the most interesting thing in the whole world.

“Th-thanks.”

“Besides,” Viktor says, and his voice is back to that snarky tone Yuri knows so well. “My Yuuri still holds the world record for Short Program, so you didn’t get _all_ the victories.”

Yuuri smacks Viktor’s arm, red in the face, and hisses: “Viktor!”

Viktor turns to him, innocent-eyed, and shrugs. “What? It’s true.”

Yuri explodes into laughter. This is the couple of idiots he knows so well and loves, the couple that never fails to bring him out of his bad moods and spoils him with affection. It’ll probably be the couple he will spend the rest of his competitive skating career with, as Yuuri will most likely join Viktor in coaching him now that he’s retired.

He really couldn’t have asked for a better couple of idiots.

  
*  


Otabek picks him up at the St. Petersburg airport.

It’s the early morning because Yuri’s flight had been delayed and the only thing he wants right now is to get home, curl up with his cat and boyfriend and sleep for about a hundred years.

He buries his nose in Otabek’s hair as soon as they find each other and rubs himself against it like a cat. He missed this smell, the way it reminds him of home.

“Welcome back, golden boy,” Otabek murmurs, pulling Yuri even closer with the squeeze of his arms.

Yuri blushes and clings to Otabek so he can’t see his face. “Stop calling me that,” he mutters between his teeth, and sighs. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, Yura.” The way Otabek says it, so warm with love and affection, it fills up Yuri’s heart to the brim.

Fuck the passer-bys. Yuri takes Otabek’s face in his hands and brings them together for a kiss. They separate only a few seconds later, because this _is_ a public space and Yuri has at least some semblance of shame. Otabek is smiling at him, playful but satisfied, so Yuri rolls his eyes and pulls his hoodie up, trying to hide his face and red cheeks from view. He grabs his suitcase and starts walking to the exit, not bothering to say anything to Otabek.

“What did you come in?” Yuri asks, in the vague direction of his back, and waits until Otabek catches up with him.

“The car, since you were bringing a suitcase,” Otabek replies.

“Hmm,” Yuri muses, his face slightly screwed up in disappointment. He really wanted to take a ride on Otabek’s motorcycle, but he supposes Otabek’s right. They wouldn’t have been able to take the suitcase back on a motorcycle.

“We can go take a ride on the evening. I found this really good coffee place recently, and they sell some amazing pirozhki,” Otabek says, because he can apparently read Yuri’s mind.

“Better than my grandpa’s?”

“You know Nikolai’s recipe is the best. But these are almost on par.”

“Is that so…” Yuri looks at Otabek out of the corner of his eye, a smug and playful smrk on his face. “I guess I’ll have to be the judge of that.”

  
*  


Yuri does get to sleep with his cat and boyfriend, but it’s not exactly for a hundred years. Only a few hours pass before Otabek is waking Yuri up, shaking him by the shoulder and calling his name. Yuri, groggy and sleep-clouded still, swats at his hand with a groan.

“Go away, Beka. I want to sleep.” He buries himself under the covers, trying to ignore his boyfriend’s voice calling him.

“Yura, come on. I made borscht.”

 _That_ immediately gets Yuri’s attention. He pulls the covers low enough to peek out of it and look at Otabek with one open eye.

“ _Dedushka_ ’s recipe?”

Otabek’s lip part in a toothy grin, knowing he’s won. “Nikolai’s recipe.”

With an exaggerated groan, Yuri throws the covers away from himself in one dramatic motion. “God damnit, I hate you, Beka,” he says as he’s pulled up with help of Otabek, who pulls him close as soon as he’s on his two feet.

Yuri hums contentedly as he feels both of their chests come into contact, skin-on-skin as neither of them is wearing a shirt. He closes his eyes, resting his head against Otabek’s, who places a kiss on his neck.

“You love me,” Otabek says.

Yuri pushes back so he can put his hands on Otabek’s cheeks and bring him close for a kiss. It’s short and sweet and probably just a little bit gross since Yuri hasn’t brushed his teeth but it’s exactly what he needs. When they part, Yuri rests his forehead on Otabek’s.

“Yes, I do,” Yuri whispers. His eyes are closed and his heart is beating so fast but it’s the words he wants to say the most right now. “I really do love you. I know I don’t say it enough but -”

Otabek cuts him off with a short peck to his lips. When Yuri opens his eyes again, Otabek’s are right there and they’re warm and welcoming and they feel like _home_. They’re so filled with love it takes the breath out of Yuri.

“It’s okay. I know you do.”

Yuri breaks, because what else is he supposed to do? He has the most amazing man in his arms and he loves and he’s _loved_. He tries to hold back, but the sobs are wrecking his throat and the tears are fighting to be spilled out. He’s been so wound up since the competition, all the emotions he has to put into every single performance build up inside of him and he never knows how to let them out. He can always feel them, rattling inside of his ribcage and threatening to come out, but he never knows what to actually do with them. Yuri shatters from the inside out because he’s so full that he’s bursting at the seams.

It’s only a few minutes, but it feels like hours. Yuri cries and sobs his heart out, his face hidden in the crook of Otabek’s neck, the only place where he feels safe enough to be this vulnerable. Because all Otabek does is run his fingers through Yuri’s hair and whisper encouragement right into Yuri’s ear, like this doesn’t even affect him. Like he isn’t mad he has to take care of this mess of a person.

When his breathing calms down and the tears stop coming out, Otabek lifts Yuri’s face up to his own and places a kiss on his forehead.

“Do you feel ok? Do you think you can eat?” He asks, forever gentle and careful, with a kindness on his face and love in his eyes.

Yuri stops the tears from coming again. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is croaky and ugly. “I want to eat your borscht.”

Otabek’s lips pull up in a small smile. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

The evening passes in silence and companionship. They eat, without much of a conversation, but it’s nice. It’s exactly what Yuri needs. After dinner, Otabek makes coffee and pours them both a cup, bringing it over to the living room where Yuri is sitting and makes room for himself beside him. Potya comes by too, snuggling into Yuri’s lap and purring as he pets her.

There are words stuck in Yuri’s throat that he doesn’t know how to say. They feel sticky, like they’re clinging onto him for dear life and won’t accept being let out, but Yuri knows he _has_ to say them.

“Beka, I -” Yuri gulps. He’s looking at the floor in front of them because he doesn’t dare look at his boyfriend. “I’m sorry for -”

A hand on his knee interrupts him. Yuri looks up, surprised, and finds Otabek looking at him with eyes set with determination.

“Don’t apologize for crying,” Otabek says, because of course he knows what Yuri was going to say.

Suddenly ashamed at the mention of it, Yuri tears his eyes away from Otabek and gulps.

“But I should -” he tries again, to no avail.

“Yura.” Otabek’s voice is firm, but when Yuri looks back at him his eyes are gentle. “I know it’s hard. I know you don’t like it. I know you’re bad with words sometimes.” He comes closer, taking both of his hands and grabbing Yuri’s face with them. His eyes shift from each of Yuri’s, like he’s looking for something. “I know all of this and I love you. Love doesn’t come with clausules or requirements. You have mine and I have yours and that won’t change.”

Yuri doesn’t stop the tears this time. He can’t even if he tried. Otabek pulls his close once more, cradling Yuri’s head in his hands and letting him rest in between his shoulder and his neck.

“I wish I was better,” Yuri manages between tears and it feels like it was ripped out of him.

He hadn’t said that to anyone else before.

“I know you. And you will be better, but the Yuri now is enough too,” Otabek says, his voice both firm and soft and everything that Yuri needs in this moment.

Yuri brings a fist up to Otabek’s chest and half-heartedly punches him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he confesses in a whisper.

Otabek laughs, but it’s not at Yuri’s words. “You loved me. And that is more than enough.”


End file.
